


just you and i, defying gravity

by theheadgirl



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Crossover, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 17:43:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16142267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheadgirl/pseuds/theheadgirl
Summary: While heading to November 1, 1981 (the happiest day, the Doctor claims, in all of wizarding history), the Doctor and Clara hit an unexpected split in the timestream - and find Lily Potter, alive and in hiding from the Dark Lord who failed to kill her. But when an impossible girl falls in love with one who shouldn't be alive, can there ever be a happy ending?





	1. the unexamined life

"Clara," the Doctor says abruptly one day, "what do you think about magic?"

As far as questions from the Doctor go, it's not even the strangest one she's heard today. Clara marks her place in her book and sets it down, shaking her head.

"Dunno, never gave it much thought, I guess. It'd be nice if it were real. Get the house clean in a trice." She cocks her head curiously, because the Doctor doesn't just ask things like that without a purpose. "Why?"

"I was thinking," the Doctor replies, "that you might like to see the happiest day in all of magical history."

Clara stares at him, then laughs. "You're joking." The Doctor looks back at her, all earnestness, and the smile fades slightly. "You're not joking."

"Here's how much I'm not joking!" the Doctor replies, leaping to his feet and bolting from the library. Clara cries out in surprise, then takes off a moment later. She's utterly lost by the time they get back to the control room, and the Doctor is already throwing switches and tapping at buttons on the console.

"You're serious?" Clara asks, grabbing at the rail on the central console as the main column starts to move up and down. "Magic? Like abracadabra and rabbits out of hats? Ladies being sawed in half?" She tries to remember the other things she saw magicians do at her friends' birthday parties. "Pull silk scarves from their sleeves?"

"Not quite," the Doctor says. He grins at her, eyes glinting with that slightly manic energy that always makes Clara wonder if the times the Doctor vanishes for hours at a time  involve recreational drugs. (If they do, he really ought to invite her along. It's just inconsiderate otherwise.) "More like wands and spells and light and dark!"

The TARDIS lurches and Clara barely keeps from pitching forward. The Doctor doesn't even notice.

"An epic battle of good and evil, won by the most unexpected victor!" He races around the console, twiddling a dial and checking a monitor at the same time.

"But _magic_?"

The Doctor lifts a hand from the console and points at her. "Just you wait! It's brilliant! It's - "

But whatever else it is, it's cut off as a woman's scream tears through the room. Clara looks around, shaken to her core at the distress in the woman's voice.

"In the corner!" she gasps, pointing as she spots it. "Doctor, what's going on?"

In the corner is what appears to be a veil of diaphanous mist, but as Clara watches, it takes on form and substance. Two arms, two legs, a trunk, a head. Standing in the corner of the TARDIS is a beautiful young woman wearing jeans and a t-shirt, her body tense, eyes wide. Her arms are akimbo, palms turned back, as though she's protecting something behind her. Though she looks solid enough that Clara could touch her, she can clearly see the walls of the TARDIS through her, and she's a uniform shade of pearlescent white.

"Not Harry, not Harry," she's crying out in a strong Manchester accent, shaking her head.

"Out of the way, foolish girl," a high, cold voice snaps in response. Clara looks over where it seems the voice came from, but there's no one else there.

The woman shakes her head again, moving back. "Not Harry," she repeats.

" _Avada Kedavra_!" Suddenly, there's a flash of green light and another scream - but this one is, horribly, abruptly cut off. Clara blinks hard, trying to clear the spots from her eyes, and looks back at the corner as soon as she can.

The empty corner that looks exactly the same as it did five minutes ago, before there had been any screaming girls or blinding flashes of light.

"Doctor," she says, swallowing, "who was that? Why was she screaming?"

The Doctor looks grim, his lips drawn tightly together. "That was the last casualty of the first wizarding war, Lily Potter."

Clara looks back at the corner, a lump growing in her throat. "And we just saw - ?"

"Her last moments on Earth, before she was struck down in the act of saving her infant son." The Doctor seems very focused on the console in front of him - much more than he usually is.

Clara steps closer to him, laying a hand on his arm. "All right?"

She's not - it's really hard to see someone murdered in front of you, even if they were only the shadow of a stranger. There'd be no shame in the Doctor being shaken up too.

But if he is, he doesn't (can't, won't) say. He just lunges away from her and spins another dial.

"But," he continues with a forceful sort of cheer, "that's what led to the end of the first war. You-Know-Who killed Lily Potter, but when he tried to -"

"I don't, actually," Clara interrupts.

The Doctor pulls up short. "Don't what?"

"Know who. You said you know who."

"Right." A few more switches. "You-Know-Who, aka the Dark Lord, aka the most feared Dark wizard in the latter half of the twentieth century, Lord Voldemort." He doesn't wince, exactly, when he says it, but Clara sees the way his eyes flick up and around, as though he's expecting something to happen. "Rose to power in the sixties, at the height of his power in the seventies, unexpectedly brought down on Halloween of 1981 by an eighteen-month-old boy. No one knows what happened that night - " He glances to the corner again, the one where the girl - Lily, her name was Lily - had ... well ... died. "...no one who can tell us now, anyway. And now we're - "

The TARDIS lurches hard to the side again, and the central column groans loudly, like it's under an unbearable amount of strain. Clara loses her balance and falls hard against a console, banging her hip hard enough that she's sure it bruised. The Doctor's eyes widen and he starts running around the center console, flipping switches and pushing buttons frantically.

"What's happened?"

"We've been knocked off course," the Doctor replies briskly, pausing just long enough to skim a readout before he's off again. "Not too much, though, this ought to do it - " Between each word, he flings a lever and the TARDIS judders worryingly before settling back into a less chaotic trajectory. They land with a resonant thud, and the Doctor presses one more button before tossing his hair in an extremely self-satisfied way.

"London!" he announces, his long strides taking him to the door of the TARDIS easily. Clara hurries to catch up, hovering at his elbow. "November 1, 1981. The happiest day in all of wizarding history!" He flings the door open ...

... revealing London, all right. It's overcast and cold, the heavy skies threatening rain. The skyline looks strange to Clara without Canary Wharf and the Eye, but it's still recognizably London. Some of the taller buildings are haloed in fog, and the whole scene has a heavy, oppressive feeling to it.

"Wow," she says, pulling her jacket closer to keep out the chill. "I can feel the joy from here. It's overwhelming."

"This isn't right," the Doctor mutters, stepping out onto the street. Clara follows, looking around. It's also not nearly as crowded as the London she remembers. Of course this is over thirty years before "her" London, but surely the capital city doesn't get that much less crowded. These streets are nearly empty, with only a few people out, and those people have their heads down and their hands in their pockets, not looking up or engaging with anyone. That, plus the fog, makes Clara feel like they've ended up in a horror movie.

"This isn't right," the Doctor repeats, louder now, like he's just now decided to include Clara in the conversation. "There ought to be groups of people on every corner, celebrating. There ought to be flocks of owls everywhere. There ought to be fireworks. This is ...wrong."

"Maybe they decided to have their parties inside," Clara suggests, hugging herself to keep from shivering. "Not a bad idea."

"That's the other thing," the Doctor says, pulling his sonic screwdriver from the inside pocket of his jacket and buzzing it against the air. Whatever the readings are, he doesn't like them. "November first was a clear, sunny day. Unseasonably warm for this late in the season. This fog isn't natural. Look at the way it moves."

Clara looks. It takes her a moment to realize it, but when she does, she recoils. "It's like a liquid!"

The fog moves slowly, but it doesn't dissipate when it encounters something solid, like a person, or a police box. It clings to obstacles, slowly working its way around them. Clara almost gets the feeling that it's watching them, gazing up at them and learning about them. She gives the fog a sidelong look and smooths her skirt down closer to her thighs. No fog's going to get all cheeky with her.

"It's not right," the Doctor says again, his screwdriver pointed at the fog where it swirls around his feet. The light glows off its surface - and then, suddenly, it splits, curling on either side of it, but nowhere near the glowing center.

Unsettled,  Clara glances away, and she spots a newspaper box on the corner. Taking care around the creepy fog, she goes to it, peering more closely at the date.

"Doctor?" she calls, still staring.

The buzz of the sonic drones steadily on, meaning that he's not going to pay attention until she makes him.

She makes him by shoving the front page between him and the ground, blocking his view of the fog and the screwdriver.

"Oi," he starts, but Clara cuts him off.

"You said November 1, 1981," she tells him, then pointedly taps the upper left hand corner of the _Daily Mail_ 's masthead.

"Yeah, and it's ... " Suddenly, the paper is gone from her hands, and the Doctor is looking at it like it's got legs. "November 1, 1984," he finishes.

"Navigation par excellence," Clara says, giving her arms a brisk rub and clenching her teeth a little tighter together to stop them chattering.

"Cold?" the Doctor asks abruptly.

"Bit."

"Let's get tea." He takes off, and Clara scurries after to catch up, hooking her arm through his to keep him at her pace.

"Is there somewhere nearby?" she asks, because this is London in 1984. There's not exactly a Starbucks on every corner anymore. Yet. Whatever.

"We're in London. There's always a tea shop nearby."

There is, in fact, a tea shop nearby. Despite its rather rundown exterior, the inside is well-lit and clean. They take one of the empty tables, and before long, a pretty brunette comes to the table, setting two glasses of water down, as well as menus.

"I'm Daisy," she introduces herself, "and I'll be your server today. I'll give you a few minutes to look over the menu." She smiles at them, bright, and walks away. Clara notices that her hair is twisted up and held in place with two pens, one black, and one blue.

"She was pretty," she says, picking up her menu and flipping it open.

"S'pose so," the Doctor says non-committally, more focused on the menu than on the conversation. "If you like brunettes."

"Never knew you to have a problem with them," Clara retorts archly.

"They're all right, I suppose."

Clara briefly debates kicking him under the table, then decides to save that for later, when he really deserves it.

The waitress comes back a few minutes later, giving them both a bright smile. "Any questions?"

"I'm ready to order, actually." The Doctor grins up at her. "Earl Grey with lemon. And she'll have - "

"She'll have," Clara interrupts, shooting a pointed look at the Doctor before smiling up at Daisy the waitress, "Irish Breakfast and a cream cake. Thanks."

Daisy's eyes twinkle with amusement. "Coming right up."

"That's what I was going to order for you," the Doctor protests, once they're alone again.

"Yeah, of course," Clara replies with a scornful toss of her hair. "Not white tea and two McVitie's?"

In lieu of an answer (which makes Clara feel victorious), the Doctor gets out his sonic screwdriver and turns it back on, frowning at whatever readings he can see.

"What could be causing it?" he asks, more to himself than Clara. "It's not regular fog; it's not just cold air and the Thames."

"It seemed colder than usual," she offers. "And it seemed to, you know - cling." She remembers the way it had snaked around her ankles, like it had been learning.

"Yeah, the way it moved ..." He trails off as Daisy reappears with their tea and cake. If she'd heard anything unusual, she doesn't show it.

"Daisy," the Doctor says, just as she's turned away, "we're not from around here. Can I ask you a question about the weather?"

Daisy turns back with a slightly bemused and inquisitive smile. "Sure, of course. What about it?"

"Is it always this foggy? It seems particularly ... dense."

Daisy glances out the window, and an expression Clara can't exactly put her finger on crosses her face. "It depends on the day." When she looks back at them, her smile is back in place, bright as ever, and that odd expression is gone. "It's pretty bad during the fall. You ought to come back in the spring, if you can. It's much less gloomy."

"Any time in particular?" Clara asks. It's a bit stupid of her to ask, honestly; she's been to London loads of times and she knows when in the spring it's nice, but ... she doesn't want her to leave just yet.

Daisy considers the question. "April," she says. "Late April's the best, I think. The sun's burnt away all the fog and it's not unbearably hot yet."

The Doctor smiles at her. "And if we come back here, will we see you again?"

Daisy gives a little laugh. "I plan on being here, so I'll just say yes. Anything else I can get for you in the meantime?"

Neither of them can think of anything, so Daisy promises to check in on them soon before she steps away again.

Once she's out of earshot, the Doctor says, "Did you see the way she looked at the fog? I think she knows something."

"I think she's just sad that London is covered in pervy fog," Clara counters. "I'm sad about it and I can leave."

The Doctor concedes this point, and they drink their tea in relative quiet.  Daisy comes by again with their check and, after a brief tussle (at the end of which the Doctor reveals he doesn't have any money anyway), Clara pays.

"Thanks for coming in today," Daisy calls. "Stop by anytime."

"See you later!" Clara responds, though she can't say quite why. They're not coming back here, and in a few minutes, they won't even be in 1984. In 2014, Daisy probably doesn't even live in London anymore.

Even so, Daisy meets her eyes and gives her a bright, genuine smile. Clara smiles back and, to her surprise, feels a warmth crawling up her cheeks. Before her blush can become too apparent, she turns away and follows the Doctor out.

The bell over the door jingles again, but the sound is swallowed by the fog, which seems to have gotten thicker all around them. When Clara exhales, her breath comes out of her mouth as a white plume, clearly visible in the air.

"Is it just me," she says, "or is it really cold all of a sudden?" She shivers again, violently, and pulls her jacket tighter.

The Doctor doesn't answer. Clara turns, but it feels like she's moving through molasses, and a single blink of her eyes seems to take much, much longer than usual. The Doctor stares straight ahead, his eyes glassy, though his hands are tightly balled into fists.

"Doctor?" Clara says, or thinks she does - the cold feels like it's burning down her throat, freezing the word in place.

"I burned up a star for you," he says. The fog reflects his words weirdly, so he sounds as though he's right next to her, and a million miles away.

Clara tries to step forward. As soon as her foot moves, the cold hits her chest, and she stops, her breaths suddenly heavy with tears. What's even the point anymore? Why bother to keep walking forward? It's not going to help. Nothing is. Nothing will ever help again. She half-hiccups, half-wails, pressing her hands to her eyes. Faintly, like it's in the fog itself, or maybe inside of her, she hears a man sobbing like his heart is fit to burst.

"Dad," she whimpers, the word carried on a cry. She's in front of her mum's grave again, her mum who never came back from that shopping trip, who had been one of the names the grim-faced newscaster had read, and her dad is next to her, a strong man reduced to the depths of grief.

Deep down, Clara still believes that in some huge, cosmic way, it's her fault.

That thought catches and echoes, getting bigger and louder, maybe bouncing off the fog or inside her skull. Clara is only vaguely aware of the _crack_ of the pavement against her knees, of her hands falling limply to her sides, of her head tilting back...

So much easier to give in. So much easier to not try. So much easier to ...

... her mouth falling open, the cold invading, spreading, freezing her from the inside...

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM_!"

The cold recedes, jerked back as though by an invisible hand. Clara starts forward, clutching at her chest, trying to catch her breath. She blinks, and sees a figure, glowing, shining with such pure white light that the fog around it looks dingy and grey. It paws the ground with one soundless hoof, head high and alert, eyes bright as it takes in Clara and the Doctor. Before she can move,  the animal glances over its shoulder, then takes off at a gallop, though its footfalls are silent. She turns to follow its progress, but it's already gone.

"What -" she says in a weak, cracked voice, but she's cut off when someone else comes running through the lightening fog - someone whose footsteps are clearly audible. Clara looks up to see -

"Daisy?"

The waitress from the tea shop stands in front of them, her dark ponytail bouncing behind her shoulders as she looks between them, then up, eyes moving as though she's tracking something. Clara's eyes drop along her tensed arm to her hand, and she feels a moment of dulled incomprehension. It looks like she's holding a stick, but that doesn't make sense.

From far away (or maybe very close), there's a loud crack. Daisy swears.

"They're here - I was hoping they'd be a bit slower - " Almost faster than the eye can follow, she twirls the stick in her hand - but maybe Clara was mistaken, because she's clearly holding a pen, and she's shoving it into her ponytail as she drops to her knees next to Clara, hooking their arms together and curling closely to her. Though she still feels cold, there's an unmistakable jolt that races up Clara's arm as Daisy touches it.

"Don't," she breathes to both the Doctor and Clara, "say a word. Let me do the talking."

Footsteps - too many for one person, maybe two - come rushing towards them, stopping so Clara can see two sets of oddly old-fashioned boots directly in her line of sight. She risks a glance up through her lashes, and she's not sure exactly whom she's seeing. The two men carry themselves like police, but they're not dressed like any police Clara has ever seen outside of a movie. They wear long, dark blue frock coats and tight, matching trousers. Their boots are black and highly polished. There's some sort of insignia on their jackets, but Clara can't quite make it out.

"What happened here?" one of the men demands.

Clara half-braces herself, waiting for the Doctor to ignore Daisy's warning and say something. But she feels Daisy move next to her, and when she speaks, her voice is shaky and terrified, as though she'd gone through it, too.

"I don't - I don't know, we were just ..." She pauses, taking in a sobbing breath. "It was so cold, and I - I thought I'd never be happy again."

"What else?" a second voice - the other man - asks, tone just as hard and impatient as his companion's.

"Then I heard a voice," Daisy continues, and there's a tone of confusion in her voice, the twin of the confusion Clara still feels in her head. "It said, like - expect something. With a P, I think. Didn't he?"

There's a pointed squeeze on her arm, and Clara nods.

"Yeah," she says. "E-expect Patron, something like that."

"Did you see who said that?" the first man asks.

"No," Daisy replies. "It came from over there." She points in, Clara notices, the opposite direction of the tea shop. The fog in Clara's head is starting to clear, and she wonders about her - how does she know all this? Why is she covering for them?

"Did you see anything else?"

Daisy shakes her head. "No. Just that - that I could breathe again."

The two men step away from them and discuss something in hushed tones. Clara can make out a few words here and there - Muggle, demented, nothing. Slowly, Daisy starts getting to her feet, holding a hand out to help Clara up. Once they're both on their feet, Clara hurries to check on the Doctor.

"Are you okay?"

"Couldn't be better," the Doctor replies, but he doesn't look at her. His eyes are distant, rimmed with a pain that seems to go deeper than Clara suspects she'll ever be able to understand. After a moment, his eyes laser focus on Daisy, who's watching the two men. To Clara, her face looks perfectly neutral, but she thinks he must see something she can't.

"Penny for your thoughts," she murmurs.

"My thoughts," he replies grandly, "are worth loads more than a penny. I'd need at least ten pounds, and that would be for one of the less interesting thoughts, like "the sky is blue" or "the ocean is big.""

Clara rolls her eyes.

The two men come back to Daisy and speak to her in what seems to be an unnecessarily combative way. Daisy points again away from the shop, her face open and mystified by what she'd claimed to witness. They turn away and start in that direction. As soon as they're out of earshot, Daisy wheels on the Doctor and Clara.

"They'll chase that wild goose for a bit, but it won't keep them for long. You need to get out now."

"Not without some answers," the Doctor begins, but Daisy cuts him off with an impatient shake of her head.

"No. It's not safe. You really don't want to be here if they come back."

"You'll still be here," Clara points out.

"I'll be in the shop, they don't go into M - " She bites down on something and finishes, "shops like that. I'll be fine. You might not be. Go."

"What if I could take you somewhere safe?" the Doctor asks.

She looks skeptical. "Nowhere is safe."

"I know somewhere those clowns won't be able to find you."

Daisy looks like she's considering the point, but then she shakes her head. "That's near impossible."

"As impossible as, say ... a shopgirl producing a corporeal Patronus?"

Daisy's eyes widen slightly, then narrow suspiciously. She takes a step back, eyes flicking down to the Doctor's hands.

"I have to go, and so do you."

"No! I promise, I can take you somewhere safe."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Daisy asks. "I've no idea who you are. You could be working for anyone."

"You don't," the Doctor replies, "but - " He points to Clara. "She does. I guess the question is less 'can you trust me' and more 'do you believe her.'"

Daisy's eyes glance to Clara, and Clara realizes with sudden, shocking clarity that she wasn't the only one who had felt that jolt when they touched.

"...all right," she allows. "After my shift ends."


	2. my pulse is rushing, my head is reeling

Daisy had told them that her shift would end at 6:30 that evening, and that she would meet them near their 'safe location.' She arrives about ten minutes after that, wearing a heavy leather jacket and a tight, suspicious look on her face. She holds something tightly in her hand, and it takes a moment to recognize the familiar shape of a pen. Clara flashes back to the foggy memories from earlier, the pen that had, for a moment,  looked like a stick. Which is right?

"Okay," Daisy calls, stopping a safe distance away. "What's your 'safe place?'"

The Doctor, without hesitation, points behind him at the TARDIS. Daisy looks over his shoulder, face openly skeptical.

"A police box? Funny. I'm leaving." Daisy turns on her heel.

"Wait!" The Doctor speaks with unexpected authority, and Daisy stops, but doesn't turn back. Her head tilts slightly, a tacit admission that she's listening. "Is a police box being a safe place any more impossible than a dead woman walking the earth?" Daisy's shoulders tense. "It's a bit odd, isn't it, Lily - " His lips draw in to say the next word, but before he can, Daisy whirls around, eyes hard, lips white.

"Don't," she bites out, "say that name. Did you learn  _nothing_ from earlier? They're everywhere."

"So you'll come with us," says the Doctor. It's not really a question.

"You'll tell me how you figured it out," Daisy challenges him. He nods, then turns towards the TARDIS, fishing his key out of his pocket. Clara looks apologetically towards Daisy, who seems less annoyed than she'd expect, and much more scared. Still, she follows the Doctor in with her head held high - at least until she actually steps into the TARDIS, anyway. Like so many others, she stops stock-still, eyes wide, taking in the impossible proportions of the room around them. Her head whips to stare at the Doctor accusingly.

"You couldn't see the Dementors," she says, "but you've got some sort of Extension Charm on the police box. What are you?"

That isn't the reaction Clara had been expecting.

"I'm a Time Lord," the Doctor replies, "and it's not an Extension Charm, it's Gallifreyan technology." He makes a soft "tuh!" noise as though it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"All right, so how does a Time Lord know about Patronuses if you can't see Dementors?" Daisy demands. Her face hasn't changed from its hard, suspicious expression, and her body is tense, poised, still holding her pen in a white-knuckle grip. She looks at Clara. "Are you like him too?"

"Me?" Clara holds up her hands pacifyingly. "No way, not me. Just a regular human. I don't have any idea what's going on, if that's any help."

Daisy looks back at the Doctor, waiting for his response.

"I've read about them, of course," he replies. "Just like I've read about the hero of the first Wizarding War, the mother of The Boy who Lived, Lily P-"

Again, before he can finish, Daisy's hand flashes up - but instead of her pen, it's that stick again, and it's pointed directly at the Doctor's throat.

"I said," she growls, "don't say that name. They are everywhere."

Clara gasps, taking a step forward before she can stop herself. The Doctor's eyes flick to her and he shakes his head. He looks back at Daisy and says, voice even and cool,

"Lily Potter."

Daisy sucks in a sharp breath and whirls, stick out, eyes flashing around the console room.

...and then nothing happens. Nothing happens. Nothing happens.

Daisy turns to the Doctor, eyes huge and dark in her pale face, and stumbles back, hitting the door. Her hand stays steady, though when she speaks, her voice is anything but.

"How?" It's just one word, but it carries a world of meaning.

"I told you," the Doctor says. "We're safe here."

"But it's just a police box. With an Extension Charm on it. It shouldn't - they should - " She falls silent for a moment, taking in a shaky breath that sounds a lot like the one before tears. "Who are you? What is this place?"

"I'm the Doctor. This is Clara. And this - " He gestures grandly, encompassing the whole of the console room. " - is my spaceship." He steps towards her, taking her in. "Then there's you. Lily Potter."

"How did you know?"

"Your Patronus, of course. Your doe and James Potter's stag. It was unmistakable."

"How did you know about my Patronus if you're not a wizard?" Daisy's voice has that particular force behind it that comes from that place caught between terror and fury. "How do you know about any of this? It's impossible!"

"Wait, Lily Potter?" Clara repeats suddenly, mind connecting name to ghost. "Isn't she who we saw?"

"Bang on," the Doctor says, giving Clara a thumbs-up without looking at her. "So that's my question to you, Lily, Daisy, whatever you're calling yourself now. You-Know-Who came after you. How do you end up in a tea shop serving Earl Grey to tourists?"

To Clara's complete surprise, Lily bursts into tears. Without thinking, she rushes over to the brunette and flings her arms around her. Lily's shoulders shake in Clara's embrace, and she covers her face with her hands. Finally, sucking in shaky, heavy breaths, she wipes her eyes and gives Clara an awkward, apologetic smile.

"Sorry, I'm not normally." A vague gesture to her face. "You know."

"It's okay," Clara replies, and smiles back. The Doctor pointedly clears his throat, and Clara hurriedly steps away, lowering her arms.

"I think, if I'm going to tell you, we ought to sit down. Is there somewhere we can?"

There’s already a teapot and a service in the library when they get there. Lily immediately moves to serve, and Clara decides to let her. It gives her something to focus on, to do with her hands, and that’s a good thing right now. Once she’s served the three cups, she sits down on the couch next to Clara, her fingers curled tightly around her cup.

“You seem to know a lot already. You’ve heard about James and I standing up against You-Know-Who, then?”

The Doctor nods, so Lily takes in a deep breath to continue.

“Well - we had defied him, three times. I guess that was enough. We were in hiding - tiny little town in the west country, not a soul knew where we were, except our Secret Keeper. But he didn’t keep it very well, because on Halloween, he found us.

We were downstairs when the front door burst open. James immediately told me to protect Harry. I didn’t think twice - I ran. James tried to hold him off, but -” Her voice catches. Clara puts her hand on the other woman’s, and Lily squeezes it tightly.

“I didn’t know what else to do, so I locked Harry’s door. Of course it burst right open, but I’d managed to put myself in between the door and Harry’s crib. I didn't care if I died, as long as he lived. He told me to move."

_Out of the way, foolish girl!_

"I said no. Then he - " Her hand tightens on Clara's as her voice shakes. "He told me that he was sparing my life because someone had asked him to, and that I should be grateful. Before I could express my gratitude, he Stunned me, and when I woke up, Harry was ... was..."

The look of raw grief that crosses her face breaks Clara's heart. She'd lost her mum unexpectedly, but she still had her dad. She can't even begin to imagine losing your entire family in one fell swoop, and knowing that your life had been deliberately spared. Knowing that you had done everything you possibly could, and it hadn't been enough.

Lily takes in a shaking breath, still clutching Clara's hand like a lifeline. "I found out who'd asked for my life the next day. It was this bloke I'd known in school. We'd been close for ages, but then he started running with a bad crowd and I didn't want anything else to do with him."

"Why did he ask for your life?" Clara asks.

Lily makes a sound that's half laugh and half sob. "He told me he'd be able to keep me safe if I'd be with him. The kept woman of a Death Eater! And the day after his beloved master had killed my husband and child! I told him precisely what he could do with his offer, and he seemed surprised! Like I would be so overcome with gratitude that he spared my life but didn't care about my family's!"

She covers her eyes with her free hand, and Clara scoots a little closer to her, their shoulders pressing together.

"How did you end up in London?" the Doctor asks. He nods to her hair. "And brunette? All the stories I've heard talk about Lily Potter's beautiful red hair."

"Don't know what stories you'd have heard, I haven't done much lately," Lily sniffles, finally looking up, her eyes red-rimmed. "But after I rejected Severus' offer, I decided to go into hiding. Their target was my son, so theoretically, I was safe. I knew it wouldn't last, though. They'd get bored or run out of easy targets, and James and I stood against him three times. He'd want to finish us off. The smartest thing to do seemed to be to just disappear." She sighs. "And that's where you found Daisy Evans at the tea shop."

"You seemed to know a lot about the fog," says the Doctor. "Why's that?"

"Doctor," Clara warns.

"No, it's okay. The fog comes from Dementors. They're these - "

"The things that guard Azkaban?" the Doctor interrupts. "Why are they in London?"

"Because they don't guard Azkaban anymore. It's empty. The Dementors spread all over the UK. When there's a lot of them in one place, the fog builds up."

"Is that why we felt so cold?" Clara asks. "Because of the Dementors? Did you chase them off with your deer?"

Lily nods. "They were about to kiss you. Not a good kiss or a proper kiss, but actually sucking your soul out of your mouth. It leaves you alive, sort of. Since you're Muggles, you can't see them. Your soul would have just been gone."

"God," Clara whispers.

Lily leans back against the couch, taking a sip of her tea. "So now that you know the whole story, what's your next move?"

The Doctor doesn't answer at first. He looks deeply contemplative, and more than a little troubled. Suddenly, he surges to his feet, grabbing a book off the shelf and flipping through it.

"Doctor?" Clara says uncertainly.

The Doctor sticks up a "hold on a mo" finger as he keeps reading. Just as suddenly, he looks up.

"Have you ever been travelling, Lily?"

Lily's eyebrows lift. "I beg your pardon?"

"I mentioned she's a spaceship, didn't I?" He puts the book back and grins. "One trip, hey?"

Lily's expression shifts from bewildered to pensive before finally settling on delighted disbelief. "Really?"

"And I know the perfect place to start!" Already standing, the Doctor darts for the door, his long legs carrying him out of the room before Clara or Lily even have a chance to react. The two women look at each other, then chase after him.

"What about my job?" Lily asks once they're in the console room. "I mean, a space journey, that's got to take ages - "

"Oh, didn't I mention?" The Doctor grins at her. "It travels in time. Can drop you off five minutes before you left."

"So this is some sort of huge Time Turner?" She's grabbed on to the edge of the console and is examining the controls with bright interest, reaching out for one when the Doctor gently takes her wrist and steers it away from the console.

"You're not flying her yet."

 

They land with a solid thump a few hours later. Lily had excused herself to wash up and take a nap ("it's been a bit of a day"), but when Clara knocks at her door, a different woman answers.

"Oh, uh," she starts, but the woman interrupts.

"So I take it I got all of it?" She rakes her fingers through her thick red waves, pulling a lock around to examine with bright, bottle-green eyes.

"Wow, Lily!" Clara says, unable to think of anything else to say. "Being a ginger suits you."

Lily smiles, and Clara feels very pleased at the faint blush she sees coloring her cheeks.

Once they've arrived in the main console room again, the Doctor grandly gestures for Lily to open the door.

"If I open this," she says, "I'm going to be on another planet? Like Mars?"

"Why is it always Mars?" the Doctor complains. Lily moves to the door and flings it open, then gasps, her hands flying to her mouth.

"Oh my God!" Over her shoulder, Clara can see a beautiful rolling vista of purple grass beneath a strikingly blue sky. The fields are dotted with plants like none she's seen, even in her travels, in colors that are close to regular ones but two degrees off. Lily steps out into the field like she's moving in a dream. Overhead, orange-yellow clouds float across the sky.

"Where are we?" Clara asks.

"Just a little place called Ospomia," the Doctor says. He strolls out after Clara, who hurries to catch up with Lily.

"So this is it?" the redhead asks, her voice hushed, like she's in church. "We're on another planet?"

"Yeah," Clara replies. Stepping out onto new planets isn't new for her any longer (and who knew that she'd ever say that), but seeing the joy writ large across Lily's face reminds her all over again of that incredible wonder of the first time. "It's amazing, isn't it?"

"It's beautiful," Lily says. She pushes the toe of her sneaker into the ground and pulls it back out. The white toe is stained a shimmering yellowish green. She gasps and gets to her knees, fingers following where her shoe had gone, examining the dirt closely.

"Clara, look, it's - " She sees the smile on the other woman's face and playfully scowls at her, getting to her feet and brushing off the knees of her jeans. "Fine, you don't get to hear me rabbit on about alien dirt. Your loss."

"I'm heartbroken," Clara teases. She turns back to the Doctor. "So. Ospomia. Why?"

"In addition to some of the prettiest dirt in the universe, Ospomia also has an intergalactically famous marketplace, right over that hill. Beings from all over the universe come here - it never closes." He nods towards it. "I've been meaning to take you here, Clara; figured this was as good an opportunity as any."

They set off towards the hill, and when they reach the top, Clara rather feels like this is her first time setting foot on another planet, too. Below them, a huge open-air market sprawls out, utterly hidden from the other side. Judging by the number of stalls, there must be two hundred vendors, maybe more. The Doctor leads the way, while Clara and Lily follow.

As soon as they set foot in the marketplace, though, it's immediately apparent that something is wrong. The shops are open and there are a few shoppers, but it's not the crowded, bustling place the Doctor promised.

"Where is everyone? Is it early?" Lily asks, but the Doctor is already shaking his head.

"No, I've never seen it this empty, and once I spent a whole Ospomian day here just for fun."

"Fun," Clara breathes to Lily, who stifles her giggle into a cough. The Doctor is ignoring them, anyway, pulling his sonic screwdriver from inside his jacket and clicking it on.

"What is that thing, anyway?" Lily wonders. The Doctor doesn't answer and doesn't seem inclined to, so Clara steps up.

"It's a sonic screwdriver," she explains. "I'm not sure how it works, and I don't think he does, either - "

"Oi!" the Doctor protests, showing that he'd just been rude earlier, not too involved in his work. "I do know how it works; I can tell you every setting on this thing - "

"Sorry, but if it's a screwdriver, why are you waving it around and not, you know, unscrewing things? Does it tell you where screws are?" Lily's tone is politely curious, but the effect is ruined by the laughter barely underneath her voice.

"Among other things!" the Doctor replies, and he tosses his head in affront before resuming his search. Clara and Lily glance at each other and have to look away before they start laughing.

The laughter fades as they go further into the marketplace. The shopkeepers watch them closely - they're not openly hostile when they approach a booth, but they hardly give a warm reception. The other shoppers (Clara thinks that Lily is doing a fine job not gawking at everyone) skirt around them and glance at them every so often. Aside from a soft murmuring between shoppers and sellers, and the sounds of feet (and tentacles, and other appendages), the whole place is silent.  It doesn't feel like a universally famous bazaar. It feels like a black market just before the police burst in.

"Oh, Lily, look," Clara says, pointing to a booth full of books - from the look of it, very old and not all Terran books. Lily makes a beeline along with her to the booth, and it isn't long before they're chattering excitedly to each other, examining the wares laid out before them. The Doctor watches them for a moment to make sure they're entertained, then goes to another booth, selling something that looks like pottery.

"Awful quiet here, isn't it?" he asks, lolling against the counter, absently picking up one of the smaller pieces on display.

"Quiet?" the dealer snorts. "This is a _busy_ day."

"You're not serious," says the Doctor. "I thought this place was supposed to be hopping."

The dealer eyes him. "Maybe it was when folks like you still came here, but that's been years. Longer than I've been here."

The Doctor glances around, taking in their fellow shoppers. There's beings with all shades of skin, any number of legs, tentacles, antennae, more eyes than face to put them in - but aside from Lily and Clara, he doesn't see a single other person who looks like - well - a person.

"The Great and Bountiful Human Empire is one of the biggest participants in this place," he argues. "Where are all the humans?"

The dealer shrugs. "Great and Bountiful nothing, as far as humans are concerned. They're all on Earth - have been for decades."

"Why?" the Doctor asks, mystified. "Nothing has ever been able to stifle humans' desire to explore."

"Look, Earth isn't really my thing," the dealer says. "All I know is, some guy - V-something or B-something - closed Earth off, totally. We haven't seen a human in years."

The Doctor glances over at Lily and Clara, still marveling over the books on sale. Lily holds up a book with strange hieroglyphs on the cover, then opens it, running her fingers over the pages with amazement on her face. Clara leans close to her, her dark hair brushing the redhead's shoulder, and he feels a sick twisting in his gut.

"If you want more information," the dealer says, apparently not noting the Doctor's inattention, "you might talk to them. The Earth Appreciation Society, they're called - bunch of loons, but they know their stuff."

The Doctor notes the nearby tent, and nods, setting the piece back down on the counter.

"You know, I gave you some valuable information," the dealer points out, glancing pointedly down at the piece.

"The knowledge of a job well done is its own reward, my friend," the Doctor says warmly, and strolls off to the tent.

He spares one more look for Lily and Clara, then lifts the tent flap and goes in.

It's maybe an hour or so later that the Doctor joins them again, picking up a pair of earrings that Lily is looking at and lecturing her about the various properties of the shimmering rocks set in them. Lily rejoins with some of the uses similar chemical components have in magic, which makes Clara laugh.

The Doctor buys Lily the earrings.

As they head back to the TARDIS, Clara feels Lily's hand insinuating itself with hers, and she looks over at her.

"How did you like it?" she asks.

"Everything is amazing," Lily replies, her eyes lighting up. "I had no idea all of this was out here. I wish I could see all of it."

"I still feel that way, and it's been months," Clara admits, grinning. "There's so much to see, and I feel like I'd need a hundred lives to do it all."

"How did you end up travelling with him, anyway?" Lily asks, looking towards the Doctor, striding away ahead of them, his hands in his pockets, whistling.

"Just happened. I accidentally called the TARDIS when I was trying to set up the Wi-Fi on my laptop, then he sat outside my house for a whole night, then he saved me from being uploaded into some huge database." She looks over at Lily, who looks utterly blank.

"I understood about three words in that sentence," she says. "What's 'Wi-Fi?'"

The explanation takes much of the trip back to the TARDIS, and then Clara shows Lily Angry Birds on her phone, and Lily marvels over the plastic and glass miracle of science and technology that allows her to fling tiny birds at wicked pigs.

Lily yawns, then looks embarrassed and covers her mouth. "Sorry. Long day."

"Get to bed, then," the Doctor says. "Tomorrow's got a packed agenda!" He grins at them as he throws a few levers, and the central column starts rising and falling.

"I'll walk you to your room," Clara offers, and Lily assents.

"Good night, Doctor," she says. "Thank you for everything."

The Doctor smiles and waves them off, then turns back to the consoles. It's not until they're out of sight that he lets himself collapse onto the control panel, head in his hands, regretting the impossible predicament with the girl who shouldn't be alive .... and who his Impossible Girl is falling in love with.

 

At Lily's room, they pause outside the door, Lily's hand resting on the doorknob. "Well," she says, a bit shy, "thank you for a wonderful day. I haven't had that much fun in ... Merlin, years."

"Yeah, it was a great day." Clara looks at her feet, then back to Lily. "Good night."

"Good night." Another long pause, then Lily leans forward and impulsively presses a quick kiss to Clara's mouth. She pulls back, blushing, turning the handle to go in.

"Wait," says Clara.

"Come in," says Lily, and pushes the door open.

Clara steps over the threshold, and as she does, something in the air seems to shift.

“I'm not normally,” Clara starts.

Lily grins, brief, crooked. “Oh, I am.”

She steps closer to Clara, fingers skating lightly over the other woman's cheekbone, feeling the gentle heat of her skin. Clara tilts her head into the touch, eyes closing.

“I'm going to kiss you,” Lily murmurs, and Clara smiles.

“I was about to ask what was taking so long.”

Lily leans in and presses her mouth to Clara's again, but this time, the kiss is longer, more heated than a peck in the hallway could ever be. Aware that the door is still open, Clara flails behind her and grabs the doorknob, pulling it closed. Using the new surface, she leans against it and pulls Lily tightly to her, giving in and raking her fingers through those lush red waves. It's like silk under her touch, and Lily melts into her, letting out a soft, pleased noise into the kiss. Before long, Lily’s mouth opens against Clara’s, tongue pressing out inquisitively. Clara parts her lips gladly, welcoming Lily in, her own tongue slipping out to meet the other woman’s. Each brush of tongue against tongue sends a jolt of heat down Clara’s spine, pooling between her legs.

Eager, Clara’s hands start to roam over Lily’s body, a little hesitant at first, but with increasing confidence as Lily moans against her mouth, pressing more tightly to the brunette. Lily’s hips buck against her, and Clara, unthinking, grabs her ass to keep her exactly where she is. Lily breaks the kiss, taking in a sharp breath, hips rocking forward again.

“That, huh?” Clara asks with a grin, taking in the rather dazed look on Lily’s face. She takes advantage of the time apart to lean down and press her mouth to the other woman’s neck, pressing a line of kisses along the long line of her throat. Lily tilts her head back, letting out a noise caught somewhere between a moan and a giggle.

“If you keep that up, you’re going to have to take me to bed,” she says.

“Good,” Clara says, and leans in for another kiss, her hands slipping up under the other woman’s t-shirt. Lily squirms under her touch, pulling back long enough to allow her to peel the shirt off. Under it, her pale skin is flushed with arousal, and Clara leans down to press her mouth to the newly-exposed skin. Unable to resist, she keeps moving down, finally reaching the edge of Lily’s bra. She glances up, and Lily nods. Clara straightens up long enough to help Lily with the clasps of it, then Lily wriggles out of it, letting it drop to the floor with a soft whisper of fabric. Clara goes back down, taking an already-hard nipple into her mouth. Lily’s hips move against hers, and Clara shifts so one of her thighs is in between the redhead’s legs, giving her something to grind against. Whimpering, Lily moves eagerly against it, fingers curling into Clara’s hair, holding her tight.

With every noise, every movement, Clara can feel heat pooling low in her stomach as well. Her dress is stifling, and she’d like nothing more than to get it off. Well, really, she’d like nothing more than to get off, but one thing at a time.

Releasing Lily’s nipple with a soft _pop_ , Clara wriggles back up into the circle of the redhead’s arms, mouths meeting against with heat and intensity. Lily’s hands find the zipper at the back of Clara’s dress and tug it down. They pull apart just long enough so it pools to the ground around her feet, and then Lily pulls back, breathless.

“You,” she says, then points to the bed. “Naked.”

“You also naked?” Clara asks, because she’s all for it, but this isn’t just about her.

Lily looks at her like she’s speaking Greek. “ _Obviously_.”

Leaving their remaining clothes in a pile on the floor, Lily gets onto the bed and Clara joins her, wrapping her arms around her and pressing their bodies tightly together. The heated feeling of flesh on flesh is a revelation, and Lily moans, pressing her mouth to Clara’s again. Her hands find the brunette’s breasts, fingers teasing at the nipples, and Clara bucks against her.

“Wait, here,” Lily says, and she rolls on top of Clara, shifting her body so their wet cores line up. She presses her hips down, and the sensation of heat and wet against Clara’s clit is almost too much. She cries out, grabbing for Lily’s hips, trying to keep her precisely where she is, but the redhead starts grinding down against her.

Yeah, okay, that’s better.

The slick slide of Lily against her makes Clara feel like she’s melting, like she’s been set on fire from within. She reaches up, pulling the redhead down for another kiss, their bodies moving together. Lily’s hands are clutching the sheets on either side of Clara’s head, and Clara knows her own grip on the redhead has to be painfully tight. She doesn’t seem to mind it, though, and it’s keeping her just in that one sweet spot -

It seems far too soon that the pleasure is cresting, building deep inside of Clara, and her moans start to spill out of the kiss, hips moving more quickly. Lily’s movements match her frenzy, and the first time Clara cries out, more a shout than a moan, she doesn’t stop. Faster now, in what seems like tighter circles, until Clara has to break the kiss to breathe, moaning out a second orgasm. Even then, Lily keeps going, panting hot against Clara’s neck, her movements wild, losing their precision in favor of seeking the high of what feels good.

Each time, the pleasure crests more quickly, more intensely, a sharp suckerpunch again and again. By the time Lily collapses against her, flushed and sweaty, panting for air, Clara has lost count - frankly, she’s not sure if she had a series of tiny orgasms or if it’s just been one long one with more peaks and valleys than she’s ever experienced.

“Oh my God,” she says, out of breath. “I lost track.”

“Good,” Lily says, her voice muffled against Clara’s shoulder. “If you’d been able to count I wouldn’t have been doing my job.”

Clara giggles against her, every shift of their bodies sending tiny jolts of aftershocks through her. “So how long do you need to recover?”

“What?” Lily asks, pulling back a little.

Clara raises her eyebrows at her.  “After a performance like that, you don’t think I’m letting you out of bed, do you?”

“Merlin help me,” Lily says, but she’s smiling as she leans in for another kiss.


	3. the wicked die alone

The clock on the main console of the TARDIS reads midnight, but midnight precisely  _where_ is harder to pin down. The Doctor stands alone, staring at a monitor. It shows a planet like a blue marble, shot through with swirls of white and patches of green. At the sound of footsteps, he slaps the monitor away so it's no longer visible, turning to see who's joined him.

“Good,” Lily glances at the clock, “morning, I guess. Did I interrupt?”

“No.” He looks over her shoulder like he's expecting someone else. “Where's Clara?”

“Asleep.” She doesn't prevaricate or even try to evade the question, which the Doctor admires. “What were you looking at?”

The Doctor turns the monitor so she can see it. Lily steps forward, bare feet soft against the floor, and stands next to him.

“Is that Earth?”

The Doctor nods. “I wanted to have a look at it.”

“It's beautiful.” Lily falls into silence for a moment, watching the monitor with him. “I've seen the pictures from the Americans, of course, but this is …” She trails off, eyes narrowing. “What was that?”

“What was what?” asks the Doctor, like he doesn't know.

“That - that flash. There, that.” She points at the monitor. Something _glints_ , like the sun catching the flat facet of a diamond. Another glint, in a different spot. “Is that normal?”

The Doctor sighs. “No. When we were at the market, the vendor said Earth had been closed off. I knew something drastic must have happened, because humans aren't like that.”

“Can you,” Lily hesitates, not sure of how to phrase it, “make it bigger? Maybe we could see what's causing it.”

The Doctor nods and turns to the main console, twirling a few dials and pressing a button or two. The image of Earth on the monitor fuzzes out briefly, then reappears, zoomed in closer over the U.K.

“That's,” the Doctor begins.

“Magic,” Lily finishes, moving closer to the monitor, reaching her hand like she can touch the tightly plaited, shimmering strands surrounding the Earth. “A protective layer of magic. It's around the whole planet?”

“Must be,” the Doctor confirms. “If there was even a spot left open, someone would have wiggled through.” He glances at her. “Do you recognize any of the spells?”

“It's hard to say,” Lily replies. “But if I were making a protective barrier, I'd use a Muggle-repelling charm, something to keep out people I didn't want visiting me, and a sound-dampening charm, at least. If I had to guess, I'd say there's a lot more in there besides three spells.”

“Lily?”

Lily and the Doctor turn away from the monitor. Clara stands in the doorway, watching them. She takes a step forward. “I got worried when I woke up and you weren't there. Is everything okay?” Before Lily can answer, Clara's dark eyes land on the monitor, and what it's displaying. “Is that Earth?”

The Doctor nods, gestures her over. She comes to stand between them.

“It's in a thick, protective layer of magic,” Lily explains. She points to the strands. “That's what these are.”

“Who would have done that? And why?” Clara asks. “It doesn't seem right, humans wrapping themselves in a candy shell of magic.”

“I'm really wondering how, too,” says Lily. “Something like this must have taken the effort of every witch and wizard on Earth, and the Muggles would have noticed. You can't Obliviate everyone on the planet.”

“Obliviate?” Clara repeats.

“Erase someone's memories. Not all of them. Just what you need them to forget.”

Clara shivers. Of course she hadn't thought that magic would be all pops and bangs and pretty lights, but the thought of magic that digs in your head and plucks out your memories is rather chilling. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of Lily's brilliant red hair, and wonders if she's ever had to erase someone's memory of her. If things had gone differently - if the Doctor hadn't been able to offer her safe harbor - would she have Obliviated them, too?

“Can we go down there?” Lily asks.

“It'll be dangerous,” the Doctor warns them, but he knows his audience, and he knows that won't be a deterrent.

“So should we put on protective gear first, or?” Clara asks. Lily laughs, and she catches Clara's hand in her own, giving it a quick squeeze.

“Get a couple more hours of sleep,” the Doctor says. “We’ll go down in the morning. It'll look less suspicious than sneaking around at night.”

“Do we look suspicious?” Lily asks.

The Doctor flashes her a quick grin, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “I always do.”

 

The next morning, after a quick breakfast of what seem to be normal waffles with a green syrup that has an oddly citrusy aftertaste, the Doctor, Lily, and Clara assemble by the console.

“I'm warning you lot now, I don't know what's going on down there,” says the Doctor. “This isn't where humans are supposed to be at this point in time. Something's gone wrong somewhere along the line.”

Lily leans forward to look at the monitor, still centered on Earth, watching as the sunlight glints off the protective shell of magic.

“Did the vendor tell you anything else?” she asks. “Or just say that Earth had been shut off?”

“He did mention that he thought there was a person behind it,” the Doctor admits. He looks at Lily, and Clara can tell the moment he starts to lie. “But he couldn’t remember the name.”

“Right,” says Lily. She slides her wand from the inside of her sleeve and taps it against her head. “ _Multicorfors_.”

“What are you - “ Clara begins, but her question becomes irrelevant a moment later when she realizes what Lily’s done. Like ink in water, brown swirls from the spot where Lily tapped her wand, spiraling and branching over her bright red hair until every strand is the same dark color it was when Clara first met her. Two more repetitions of the spell - said with her wand carefully placed under each eye - hides the distinctive bottle-green of her eyes behind a deep brown. “You’re going in disguise?”

“I know it’s silly,” Lily says, tucking her wand away, “but I feel a bit safer this way. I don’t think anyone’s looking for Lily Potter anymore, but I know no one’s looking for Daisy Evans.” She reaches out for Clara’s hand. “Humor me, won’t you, love?”

Something inside Clara melts, and she takes Lily’s hand, squeezing it. “Whatever you like.”

“Right,” says the Doctor, shaking his head, “let’s see if we can fit through the chink in the magical armor, eh?” He throws a lever at the console where he stands; then runs to another, pressing a rapid succession of buttons; then a third, twisting a dial one way, pausing, and twisting it hard the other way.

The TARDIS shakes, throwing them all off-balance. Lily crashes hard into Clara, knocking them both against the central console, and the lights flicker. One of the consoles sparks, and for a second, it provides the only illumination before the lights come back on.

“What’s happening?” Clara calls over the enormously straining sound of the central column. She hasn’t bothered to untangle herself from Lily - frankly, it seems much safer to brace against her than to be unsecured (and having Lily pressed against her is hardly a hardship).

“The magic doesn’t like us! It’s trying to reject us - Lily!” The Doctor snaps his fingers at her. “Keep Clara focused! You said there was some sort of anti-Muggle charm?”

“Probably!” Lily says, then looks at Clara. Her eyes seem slightly unfocused, which may be due to stress, but may also be from any sort of anti-Muggle magic from the shell. She considers her options, then goes for the easiest. Tangling her fingers into the other woman’s dark hair, she pulls her in for a heated kiss.

The Doctor rolls his eyes. At least, he supposes, if they’re distracted by each other, they won’t bother  _him_. Another lever, a second. It sticks, and he pulls on it with all his strength before it slides down to the other position. Five more buttons. Then, the TARDIS lands with a thump, going entirely dark for a few seconds, then flickering back to life.

Lily pulls back from the kiss immediately, and Clara whines, reaching for her.

“The lights seem dimmer,” she says. “Is that … normal?”

“She’s tired,” the Doctor says. “It was a hell of a fight getting through that thing. Let’s let her rest while we explore.”

“He said his police box was tired,” Lily says to Clara in an undertone as the Doctor goes to the door. “Is _that_ normal?”

“Extremely,” Clara replies with a flash of a grin, and they laugh as they follow him out into the world.

Lily’s laughter dies on her lips as she looks around. They’ve landed on a street corner in London - she recognizes it, it’s near her coffee shop - but that’s about all she recognizes.

“What year is it, Doctor?” she asks, her words almost swallowed by the thick fog surrounding them.

“2484.”

Five hundred years from her own time. Of course she would expect London to change over five hundred years but this … doesn’t feel right.

The skies are almost black overhead, covered with clouds that seem only seconds away from opening a torrent of rain. A cold wind pushes past them, catching the edge of Lily’s jacket, pushing through her layers so she feels like she’ll never be properly warm again. The fog surrounding them is impossibly thick, so she can barely see the outlines of buildings ahead. She’s afraid that if she goes too far ahead, she might lose the Doctor and Clara in it. Grabbing Clara’s hand in one, and the Doctor’s in the other, she starts forward. Other people pass by them, heads down, not talking, just moving in perfectly straight lines over the sidewalk.

They come closer to one of the buildings. Lily yanks her hand out of the Doctor’s to stifle her scream. Even as she bites her thumb hard enough to leave indents, her sobs are audible around her hand, her tears cold against her skin.

“Lily?” Clara asks. Silently, Lily frees her other hand to point at the side of the building ahead of them. Clara looks, and gasps.

Covering the entire side of the building is a huge poster of - well, a generous description would be a _man_. He doesn’t look like any man she’s ever seen. He’s bald, with deathly white skin and burning crimson eyes. There’s two snakelike slits where a nose should be, and his mouth is pressed into a hard, cruel line. His arms are crossed over his black robes, and in one hand, he holds a wand that almost looks like it was carved from bone.

THE DARK LORD SEES, it reads below.

“Who is that?” Clara whispers. She reaches for Lily's hand again, and the now-brunette clutches her hand so tightly it hurts.

“It's _him_. You-Know-Who. He's the one who killed my husband and son.” Lily's voice is hardly louder than a ragged whisper, either - in the fog and silence, it feels wrong to speak much more loudly. It seems like it's inviting attention. “It's been _five hundred years._ How is he still alive?”

“That can't be right,” Clara murmurs.

In the fog surrounding them, the Doctor starts to hear something: muffled popping sounds, then the soft sounds of feet hitting pavement.

“I think we've got company,” he says.

“Hands up,” a voice calls through the thick fog. “You're surrounded.”

“Where the hell did they come from?” Clara hisses.

Lily glances around. “We must have tripped some kind of proximity charm,” she says. “They Apparated here.”

Exchanging looks, the two lift their hands over their heads, and the Doctor does the same. Slowly (and honestly, Clara thinks, rather overdramatically), figures start appearing out of the fog. To a man, they wear long black robes, and their faces are covered with intricately detailed silver masks.

“Death Eaters,” Lily whispers, dread in her voice. “You-Know-Who’s followers.”

“Good afternoon,” calls the Doctor. “Or whatever time of day it is. How do your circadian rhythms deal with all these clouds? D’you just know it's teatime because that's when the news comes on?”

“What is he doing?” There's real panic and terror in Lily's voice now.

“Being an idiot,” Clara replies, her stomach sinking. Well, it's been a good life, anyway; hopefully it won't be too hard to explain to her friends back home that she died on Earth five hundred years in the future. R.I.P. Clara Oswald, 1986 - 2484. Oh no, she didn't live to be nearly five hundred. It's a long story. Have you got any tea?

“Shut up,” growls the man in charge. He makes a slashing motion with his wand and the Doctor collapses like a marionette with its strings cut.

“Doctor!” Clara shrieks. She starts to move to him but Lily barks, “Stay where you are!”

“Listen to your friend,” the man says. “Looks like she's the only one with sense in her head.”

“What do you want?” Lily asks. Her hands are still up, but all the same, there's a coiled sense of danger about her.

“Maybe not so smart. Wands.” He holds out his hand.

“Wands?” Clara echoes.

“Hand over your wands,” the man says, over enunciating like he's talking to small children. “Now.”

“Okay,” Lily says. She glances at Clara, and the hard look of determination in those disguised eyes is heartening and a little frightening. “We’ll hand over our wands.”

“Daisy-" Clara says. She trusts Lily, but she hasn't got a wand to hand over, and she doesn't know the next step.

“Get down! _Stupefy!_ ” Faster almost than Clara can follow, Lily whips her wand out from her sleeve and shoots a red bolt of light at the man in charge. He drops to the ground.

“ _Avada Ked_ -" one of the other men starts, but before he can finish, another bolt of red light knocks him down.

Clara, seeing the sense of Lily's warning, falls to her stomach. She takes advantage of the thick cover of fog to crawl over to the Doctor. He's still unconscious, but seems to be stirring. Clara takes his hand in hers so he doesn't wake alone, then cautiously peers up at Lily.

She's read about Furies in school: avenging angels from the gods who wreak vengeance on those who have wronged them. But for the first time, she truly understands the name.

Lily is a force of nature, her hair flying wild, fighting off so many men in masks. The odds should be impossible but for every jet of light they shoot at her, she bounces it back or dodges it. One streaks across her shoulder, leaving a red hot streak along her jacket.

She pirouettes, slashing her wand up again and again, and it seems that she's put glass walls in the air around her, and they move with her as she brings down three more of them with a series of rapid-fire curses.

Like a thunderstorm, she is beautiful to see from a distance but deadly to be caught in, and when there's only one left, he starts to run.

“ _I_ _ncarcerous_!” Thick ropes burst from her wand and the man staggers, falls, as the ropes bind him in place. Breathing hard, Lily rolls him over with a hard shove of her foot, pointing her wand at his throat.

“Who sent you? How did you know we were here?”

“I'll never talk,” the man says, his voice weirdly distorted by the mask. Lily reaches down and yanks it off, throwing it behind her with a metallic clatter. Faced with the full force of her fury, the mask no longer protecting him, he visibly quails.

“How about now?”

“I'll talk, I'll talk!” he cries. “The Dark Lord has a system of charms in place to alert him of any potential threat to his reign. It went mad when you got here. Louder than I've ever heard, even when another Chosen One was born.”

Lily's face goes very still. “What the hell do you mean by that, ‘another Chosen One’?”

“Every generation - a prophecy- it says one will be born that will be able to take him down, so he takes care of it before it's a problem -"

“That's a master to serve, one who kills babies because he's so insecure in himself,” she spits. She gets down on one knee so she can get in the man's face. “He's damn right about one thing: I'm a threat. When he comes here and finds you and your buddies here in a pathetic pile, you tell him Lily Potter says hi.”

The grin that crosses her face is brilliant - and absolutely terrifying. Getting to her feet, she points her wand at the man.

“ _Petrificus Totalus!”_

She looks around, spotting Clara in the fog. “We have to go, now! How's the Doctor?”

“Semi-conscious?” Clara hazards. The Doctor groans.

“Good enough, let's go!”

She hurries over to them and the two girls hoist him to his feet, draping his arms over their shoulders.

“He’s so skinny but he weighs so much,” Lily complains as they hurry back to the TARDIS.

“I have the same density as a star,” the Doctor slurs.

“That explains a lot,” Clara says.

The Doctor fumbles with the key to the TARDIS and gets the door unlocked. Behind them, the temperature seems to drop rapidly.

“Get in!” Lily cries, slipping out from under the Doctor's arm. “Go, now!”

“What about you?” Clara demands. She staggers under the Doctor's weight. “We’re not leaving you!”

“Believe me, I'm not asking you to, just get inside where it's safe!” She pushes at them to get in the TARDIS, and Clara reluctantly goes. Once inside, the Doctor perks up a bit and stumbles to the central console, tapping buttons. Clara runs back to the front door of the TARDIS.

“Lily -"

" _Finite incantatem_.” With a tap of her wand, the brown fades from Lily's hair and eyes, leaving her vivid and burning bright like a candle in a dark night.

“What are you doing?” Clara shrieks. “You're still outside!”

It's so cold, what is she playing at -

“Can it be?” asks a high, cold voice. Clara freezes.

The - the _being_ from the poster strides towards them, dark green robes fluttering in the cold winds, the bone-white wand dangling lightly from one hand.

“Lily Potter,” he continues. “What Dark magic must you have employed to be here, today?”

Lily's eyes are hard, humorless, but her mouth quirks into a smile. “Nothing dark. I just came here to tell you…”

She pauses. He lifts his wand.

“I can't _wait_ to bring this all down around your ears.”

“ _Avada Keda -"_

Lily slams the door shut. The Doctor presses a button, and the TARDIS phases out of existence. Clara almost thinks she can hear the roar of rage echoing behind them.

Lily presses herself against the door, and Clara sees the moment that armor, that fury, cracks right down the middle. Slowly, she starts to slide down the door, collapsing into a heap on the floor, burying her face in her knees, shoulders heaving with sobs. Clara runs over to her, wrapping her arms around the redhead, feeling her body wrack.

After her tears have calmed down a little, Lily looks up at the Doctor, face red and tearstained.

“This is my fault, isn't it?”

Of all the things Clara had expected her to say, that didn't make it anywhere near the list.

“What?” she gasps. “Why would you even think -?”

The Doctor doesn't look at them, his hands resting on the central console. “I don't want to use a word like ‘fault,’” he says, finally. “This is not because of a choice you made. But.” He inhales, breathes out slowly. “I started suspecting it at the market, and our visit just now confirmed it. Your death is a fixed point in time, Lily. You saw what happened when he chose not to kill you. When you die protecting your son, you - there must be some sort of magical reaction that gives Harry the tools he needs to bring him down. And that instant completely changes the course of human history.”

“You can't be serious!” Clara cries, her arms tightening around Lily. “You're not telling her to go and die!”

“Clara. Love.” Lily turns so she's looking at her, and Clara is suddenly struck by how very young she looks, and how much she must have lived through to be able to fight like she did. “You saw the world that came of it. I can't have that world on my conscience.” She strokes her thumb gently over the brunette’s cheekbone. “I can't leave you in that world. Not when I can make it right.”

Clara's eyes fill with tears. “You can't,” she says, her voice cracking. “You _can't._ You're alive, you must be alive for a reason.”

“I know I'm alive for a reason.” Her face shutters for a moment. “And it's the wrong one.” She looks at the Doctor again. “How do we fix it?”

“We go back to where it started,” the Doctor replies.

Clara doesn't dare stand, although she wants to get up and slap the Doctor silly. If she moves, then it's possible they'll go through with this, and Lily will-

“You aren't serious,” she repeats.

“I've never been more serious in my life,” Lily says, and Clara realizes she'd never be able to talk her out of it. Even if they offered her riches, power -

\- love -

None of it would convince her. Not when she can help to right so monstrous a wrong.

“Something happened to the TARDIS, when we were going to November 1,” she says. “Is that where we need to go?”

The Doctor nods, then finally looks at Lily, his face softening slightly. “Are you certain about this, Lily? This timeline already exists. By going back and sacrificing yourself, thousands of people's lives will change - some of them may not even exist anymore.”

“Does Voldemort die?” Lily asks.

The Doctor nods.

“Then I have to do it.” She crumples, a little, into Clara's arms. “Please don't talk me out of it. I don't know how long I can keep saying no.”

“November 1, 1981, then,” says the Doctor. He spins a few dials and throws a lever, then a second. He frowns, goes to another console, checks the screen, and twiddles another dial.

The central column starts to move with a great trumpeting noise, and Lily clings closer to Clara.

“Will it hurt?” she asks the Doctor.

The Doctor smiles softly, sadly. “Quicker and easier than falling asleep.”

The TARDIS spins through space and time and Clara holds the girl in her arms even closer, not sure what to expect or when to expect it. How will they know when they've crossed back? Will Lily just … die?

There's a hard jolt, and the central column strains as the TARDIS shakes.

“This is it,” Lily whispers, her voice shaking. “This is it. Clara, I-"

Rather than let her finish the sentence, Clara threads her fingers through the thick red hair and pulls Lily close, kissing her hard, tasting the salt on the redhead’s lips. She knows she’s crying, too, hot tears burning down her cheeks, but she refuses to pull back, not until the pressure on her lips is gone and her arms are achingly empty.

She does open her eyes then, vision blurry with tears, and Lily is gone, leaving nothing behind but the faintest trace of her perfume.

Slowly, Clara draws her arms back until she's clutching herself as tightly as she had Lily, like by holding herself she might keep from falling apart. Footsteps near her, and she feels the Doctor's arms engulf her. Blindly, she turns to press herself into his chest, pouring out her broken heart onto his shoulder.

The Doctor holds Clara as tightly as he dares, feeling the hot sting of tears in his own eyes. When an impossible girl loves a doomed one, there can never be a happy ending.


	4. good news

A time later, the TARDIS settles gently, the central column grinding to a halt.

“Where are we?” Clara asks, pulling back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“London. November 1, 1981.”

“You said that last time.”

“I mean it this time.” He unfolds himself from the floor and holds out a hand to help Clara to her feet, and she holds onto his hand as he pushes the doors open.

The sunlight that greets them is a surprise. It is indeed an unseasonably warm November day, with a bright, clear blue sky, spotted with puffy white clouds.

Clara takes it all in. People crowd the sidewalks, talking, laughing. Scattered amongst them are tight knots of people in outlandish clothes - robes of green, purple, or spangly black, all of whom seem to know each other, and all of whom are more than willing to share their joy. One small man in a very tall top hat stops no less than five people in a block, telling them that today is a day to celebrate - even for Muggles like themselves.

“You-Know-Who is defeated!” one woman in a red velvet dress says to her companion, and they embrace, laughing.

“It worked,” Clara whispers. She looks at the Doctor for confirmation. He isn't looking at her, though - he seems to be scanning the crowds, looking for something.

“Doctor?”

“Ask him,” he says, pointing to one of the figures in the crowd. It takes Clara a moment to pick him out: an older man, tall and thin, wearing a flamboyant purple velvet suit, long white beard tucked into his belt.  “Ask him if it's true about Lily Potter.”

Dropping the Doctor's hand, Clara goes through the crowd, finally coming to stand next to the man. They stand for a moment, looking over the Thames together, before Clara finally speaks.

“Excuse me, sir, but is it -” Her voice catches. “Is it true about Lily Potter?”

The man looks at her. His light blue eyes are kind, but Clara gets the unsettling feeling that he's seeing right through her, seeing all of her faults and flaws. Yet there's no judgment in his eyes, just sympathy.

“My dear girl,” he says, “you knew her, didn't you?”

Throat closing with tears, all she can do is nod.

The man gives her a smile. “I won't waste your time with empty platitudes. Nothing is worth the cost of a human life. But by giving herself like she did, Lily stopped the world going down a very dark and different path. I know it hurts, but I hope you are proud of her.”

 _I can't_ wait  _to bring this all down around your ears._

“I am,” she says, and she turns away, wiping her eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

She makes her way back to the Doctor, and he's still watching the crowd. The Doctor looks down, takes hold of Clara's shoulder as she gets close to him.

“This is the happiest day in wizarding history?” she asks.

The Doctor nods. “May 2, 1997 might be happier, but in a different way. I wanted you to see this one.”

“Was it worth it?” Clara wonders.

“Worth it, maybe. Hard to say. At least we know she thinks it was, and that's what matters.”

“Yeah.” The people laughing and celebrating seem to be doing so through a haze, and as much as Clara would like to celebrate with them, her heart’s not in it. Not when the high, high cost is so fresh. “We can go.”

The Doctor gets the door of the TARDIS for her, then looks back over the crowd. The man in the purple suit is watching them, and nods to him - an acknowledgement from friend to friend. The Doctor nods back, and closes the door behind him.

Alone among the crowd, the man watches the TARDIS slowly fade out of existence, then turns away. He takes a step, and is gone as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my amazing betas, forensicfreak14 and Maelie, for all of your insight and hard work! This story wouldn't be what it is without you.
> 
> Thank you to The Pen15 is Mightier for inspiring me to finally get off my ass and finish this after having it on the back burner for years.
> 
> Finally, thank you to Brona, my forever Clara, my forever Jim. I miss you.


End file.
